


At the edge of time

by FakeCirilla9



Category: Political RPF - Latin America
Genre: Controversial Political Views, I guess you can call them so, Inspired by Poetry, Life Partners, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Pablo Neruda's Poetry, Political Alliances, Relationship Discussions, Romance, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Till Death Do Us Part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28966644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: Stealing some time away during a warm night at Caribbean shores.
Relationships: Fidel Castro/Ernesto "Che" Guevara
Comments: 14
Kudos: 7





	At the edge of time

**Author's Note:**

> Beware the graphomanic poetry references. Seriously, they may make you cringe

Their clothes were in disarray like after a scuffle. Jackets and chemises soon became peeled off and thrown to the ground. Belts in the military pants were loosened and a mad chase begun. Feet trumped dips into the surface of the beach as they run, laughing and tugging at each other.

It wasn't easy to pull the other down as their chests remained naked like they were on many other occasions: on a fishing together, on a yacht, when reading a book after hard working day.

The shirts laid abandoned in the sand. Weapons, joined by the heavy belts with ammunition, had been arranged carefully upon the linens to not get stuck with the grains. Their roughness grazed the skin as the two men tumbled on the shore like school boys that cut classes. 

The ebb reached them, its wet tongue lapping at the fabrics, at the naked skin. Water was warm in the evening after heating up the whole day in the scorching sun. 

Fidel got the upper hand; he straddled Che and pinned him down to the hard moist sand. Smile brighter than the last rays of the sun blazed cheekily at him, an expression wore by countless posters in the city.

"I surrender," laughed Che.

Fidel didn't let go of his wrists.

"So easily?"

"To you? Always."

A fire leaped inside of him at the admission of his power. It never felt so good, so complete without this man subjecting to his will. Black eyes stared up at him, burning with joy, with life, with pride, and he let himself be swallowed by their depths.

Like a diver, with one last breath of sanity, he plunged in and let himself be drowned. The roughness of the beard rivaled the inhospitability of the sand, the teeth dug with sharpness of a broken shell, a moan of desire was stifled before it could truly form.

Passion met with tenderness, coarseness mingled with a heated skin. Gasps sounded harsh and laboured but the soothing hand on the back encouraged on.

The world around melted away, its borders blurred, reality and dream came close as in the hour before a dawn. Everything was painted in fiery colours: the sand lit by the evening, the sky alighted by the sun; mirror of water reflecting the brightness and naked flesh burning red in feverish throws.

Water cooled them in waves, swayed into a gentler rhythm. Hungering lust, mounting desire and a disabling affection flooded him in tides like billows around them. It was oblivion and it was the sweetest pain in the moments of clarity, when love was so overwhelming it felt like his body couldn't contain it.

He rolled to the side, catching a breath like a shipwrecked man. His body felt languid and heavy as the wet sand trickled by, beginning its slow yet persistent work to bury its victim. 

His blood thundering in his ears quietened enough for him to hear the other's wheezy inhales.

Fidel threw out his arm, searching blindly until he touched his companion. Ernesto took his hand and put it to his chest. Fidel could feel his hammering heart under the flat of his palm, even as Che squeezed at his wrist and forearm hard enough to constrict his blood flow.

When suffocative sounds turned into harsh breaths, Fidel faced him. Che was looking away, to the sea.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Hm?" Che stroked his arm absent-mindedly. "Of the beauty of the sight, of the vastness of the sea... That there is Mexico behind those waves, where our journey had begun and that it shall not end here in Cuba."

"In the moments like these I can't decide what feelings towards you prevail in my heart: love or annoyance."

Che laughed and choked, then forced himself to draw in regular breaths.

"Don't make fun of that," Fidel rebuked. "When you have that look in your eyes, I fear that you you are about to leave."

"This is a lovely place on Earth but we mustn't forget of all the others. Our mission is not complete yet. The revolution–"

"–shall spread upon the whole world. Yes, I know. But so Cuba must be ruled to secure it against the return of the previous regime."

"You will do the marvelous job of that, I am sure."

"And you?" Fidel asked, nearly breathless. The uncertainty was unbearable but he feared the answer.

"I am not meant for this," said Che, reluctantly. "The agricultural reform is almost over. Once we set everything right, what else is there to do? Whereas elsewhere in the world they might need my help."

"I need your help."

Fidel felt the effect his words had on his comrade. Che's heart under his hand, that have slowed to a regular beating, sped up again.

The night was falling quickly and the shadows darkened around them when the remnants of the sunshine hid over the horizon. Che's features were becoming indistinguishable even with how close to one another they laid.

"You have it now," said Che at last.

"For how long?"

Not waiting for an answer, Fidel sat up. His back were plastered with sand but it was a minute inconvenience compared to a whirlpool raging in his heart.

A hand touched his back, slid up to his shoulder brushing off the sand in its wake. 

"I can't tell that for certain. Someday I will leave, I have to... but not yet."

Fidel covered the hand on his shoulder with his own fingers.

"From all the people I've met, you are the dearest to me," continued Che; his voice a low murmur behind Fidel's ear. "But I must go on."

There was that fire that Fidel himself helped to build when in Mexico he had convinced him to join the cause, to exchange theoretical discussions for rifles that spoke louder than books. From the beginning, for Che it was a matter bigger than Cuba itself and the neophyte revolutionary quickly convinced Fidel, in turn, that the new governmental system shall be a communism.

"I know," sighed Fidel, squeezing Che's hand in his.

Fidel felt the other's breath intensify on his neck just below his ear.

"Come swim with me," Che murmured and in moments like these Fidel thought he understood all the women that fell for this man no matter how poor choice was he for a stable marital life. Wasn't he himself into the trap?

The night was pitch black when they returned from the beach, wet and tired and drunk with happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Another story about another problematic faves of mine... I'm sorry to anyone who has felt offended by this text.
> 
> I guess it was platonic. This text is only a fiction without any ~~other than their letters to each other~~ base in reality.


End file.
